Letters
by The Midnight gal
Summary: Completely AU. Lucas Scott is a soldier stationed in Iraq after the war. Watch him and his fiance, Brooke Davis, keep in contact via letters in his absence. Reminiscent of the famous '82 letters.'
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: It's short, but please bear with me. It'll get better.

XX

Dear Lucas,

I know I should be used to this by now. You leaving, me waiting. Its part of the job description, I get that. I just wish I could stop thinking about those three days we spent together. Because thinking about those three days makes me think about our first meeting last summer…on the beach.

Do you remember that? Overcast skies, pouring rain…amidst a hurricane warning…

Looking back, I can't believe that even the weather was trying to set the tone for…well, _us_.

But then again, you always _were_ a sucker for imagery and symbolism, weren't you, Broody? Lucky for you, so am I.

Too bad that's about as far as our similarities go. It's weird because on some level I know I should be more worried about this. But I'm not. I actually kind of like the fact that we are different. Unconventional.

I like that the first time we met, you were reading Tolstoy, and I was piss drunk, puking my guts out…

* * *

><p><em>Oh, yes. That was a good day.<em>

_It was almost as good as the next time we bumped into each other and you called me a stalker, even though I'd only met you twice before that. Or the time after that, when you hurled your pom-poms at me from across the gym because I finally made the basketball team._

_But, you know, Brooke – it's actually our fourth encounter that has really stuck with me these past few years. Do you remember that?_

* * *

><p>Mm-hm. December 12th 2003. You took me home after another one of my drunken escapades…<p>

* * *

><p><em>Pretty girl, you were one of the funniest drunks I'd ever seen. You twirled around on the spot, pushed me away, and then pulled me back again and called me Broody because you didn't think Lucas was a very nice name.<em>

_And then when I offered to take you home, you asked me if I was your guardian angel. That cracked me up at first (mostly because you'd called me a loser not two minutes before that), but it also got me thinking. Especially since after carrying you to your bedroom, I found myself admiring the very same girl I'd spent the first two and a half years of my high school life hating. It messes with your head a little, you know?_

_Of course I got out of there as quickly as I could. And of course you told me that I needed a life the next day. But it was also the first time you smiled at me…_

_And when my heart skipped a beat in response, I remember thinking: what the fuck?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. **

**A/N: Short again, but I've got the next excerpt basically written out so we'll see how it goes.**

XX

_Dear Brooke,_

_I met one of your friends today, though the term 'friend' might be bit of an overstatement. Her name is Faith, and she's dreamt about slitting your throat more than once. Doesn't narrow it doesn't much, though, does it? Joking… Sorry, my sense of humor is a little rusty, pretty girl._

_In case you've forgotten, and I know you have – Faith hailed from the loserville side of Tree Hill High. My territory, you know? Up until junior year anyway, before Whitey decided that I could shoot a basketball better than I could brood, and the head cheerleader thought I was worth the dent in her reputation. Which I more than love you for, babe._

_Faith, however, thinks otherwise._

_She still can't believe that a guy like me could end up with a stuck up bitch like you (her words, not mine). And when I told her that it only gets worse and that I'm engaged to be married to you, she right about had a heart attack.._

_It was a long haul, trying to convince her. Believe me. But I told her to cut you some slack, and that I wasn't defending who you were but who you are._

_And that's the girl of my dreams._

_She still hasn't cracked, though. In fact, she told me to visit a psychiatrist after that._

* * *

><p>Ah, the irony! Who's the stuck up bitch now, eh?<p> 


End file.
